Lieutenant
by PiscesChikk
Summary: These things happen in threes. Scarface, Elias and Carter. A strong T for some graphic imagery.


A/N This is my first exploration into Scarface. I find him to be a fascinating character and really hope to see more of him next season. I feel like we got such a rushed telling of him being shot in God Mode, so I wanted to dig more into the backstory on that as well as a possible first meeting with him and Elias. Hope you enjoy

* * *

These things normally happen in threes. It's what he thought as he lay down in the hospital bed.

It started out as a typical day. He got up early as he usually did, had breakfast with his wife, his sons. He made sure the boys got dressed for school, but as he helped his youngest put his jacket on, he felt like something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew, without a doubt that something was gonna happen today.

He kissed his wife on the lips, telling her to have a good day and made sure she got into her car safely before she pulled out of the driveway. He dropped the kids off at school, looking around for something, anything that was outta place, but as he clutched his pistol tighter he saw nothing. Nothing, but his kids waving goodbye.

The air was quiet; the sun was up, bright and shining. A day like this was meant to be spent outside with your family. Maybe having an ice cream, putting some hot dogs or steaks on the grill, maybe sitting outside necking with your girl. Today looked like the typically all around good day, but this sinking feeling in his stomach told him it would be anything but.

Things hadn't been good lately; in fact things had gone from bad to worse. Since Elias' incarceration Anthony had been doing his best to hold together his boss' organization with the most desperate of grips. Enemies smelled blood in the water. Minor Dons were trying to take back some of their territories that Elias had seized, some of them had even been successful believing that Elias was in jail, never to be set free.

The Russians, Peter Yogorov in particular, had resurfaced with one purpose in mind, to take back the area, any foothold, and control that Elias' had slowly and surely built over the last few years. The Russians didn't have the same patience as his boss. They didn't possess the same finesse or vision. They believed in taking what they wanted, establishing control without thought of the repercussions or methods. Not that Elias was ever afraid of collateral damage, but at least he knew the difference between making a statement to ensure your enemies heard you loud and clear and simply making a mess.

HR had tried to reestablish ties with them. He laughed at the thought. They were nothing more than corrupt cops hungry for money, maybe even more power than their jobs as law enforcement truly allowed. The boss' refusal to reestablish their alliance had puzzled him. With HR groveling at their feet he thought it was the perfect moment to use them to Elias' advantage. They were willing to do almost anything. Anthony had questioned whether this was a good idea for a split second. But he'd known Elias for a very long time. He had watched Elias' successful infiltration of almost the entire crime syndicate in New York; he was a man of vision, purpose, and strength. If he didn't feel as if he needed the help of dirty New York cops, then Anthony would follow him wherever he led.

Still some insight right now wouldn't hurt.

Two more were lost last night.

He wasn't sure who would be next.

He finally rounded the corner to his home and pulled slowly into the driveway. He got out of the car and his foot barely hit the pavement when the sounds of screeching tires sounded in his ears. He reached for his pistol just as two men got out of a black escalade. The two shots he fired hit one of them in the chest, but the other raised a Mossberg at him and he went down hit by three bullets in the chest.

He looked up to see three birds flying over the area, high in the sky, their calls echoing faintly.

He heard a neighbour's dog barking, the tires screeching again. He heard his children in his ear telling him goodbye as they ran off to their classes, his wife telling him she was working late. He could hear his own heart beating, rapidly, then slower and slower. He heard the sounds of the neighbours rushing out of their houses. He heard so much, but he couldn't move. He felt pinned to the spot, pain in his chest, it was difficult to breathe and soon he couldn't see. There was just blackness and all the sounds, voices in his ears grew silent.

They hadn't killed him.

He woke up later in a hospital. Machines beeping in his ear, tubes coming out of him. He didn't wake up feeling scared, lost. He woke up angry. Angry that Yogorov had sent someone to his house, his neighbourhood to kill him. Anger at the possibility that his wife or even worse, his kids could have been there. The thought of his boys being hit or having to witness him on his back incensed him beyond reason. He was furious. He pulled at the machines he was hooked up to, the tubes in his arms, causing them all to go off.

Nurses eventually filed into his room, one of them tried to restrain him.

"Mr. Marconi. Mr. Marconi, please."

"We'll have to sedate him again…"

_**No**_ _**don't sedate me**_, he thought. "Water…..give me some water…." He managed to croak out as sweat beads formed on his forehead. The exertion he used to get up, the energy it took to speak, now taking its toll on his body. He plopped back against the bed, exhausted, dizzy.

He watched as they scrambled to get everything back in place, taking his blood pressure readings, his pulse. He didn't care. He lay back against the pillow on his bed glancing through the open door of his room to see Louis and Martin standing sentry outside his room. He closed his eyes with a smile on his face knowing just who sent them.

* * *

SOME TIME AGO

It seemed weird this would all happen in their kitchen. They had just sat down to eat dinner when Vincent DeLuca walked into their small apartment in Brooklyn with one of his soldiers, bold as brass, acting like he owned the place. He demanded that Anthony's father pay a debt owed to him. Whatever it was, his father didn't have it, and he and his mother were forced to watch as the soldier took the debt out of his father's skin since they couldn't get it out of his pocket.

He listened to his mother's cries and whimpers as she watched her husband being beaten to a pulp. He felt the hot tears sting his face as he witnessed blow after blow to his father's now broken body. He could feel the anger rising up inside him as he heard DeLuca laugh, while he lit up his Cuban cigar, the aroma wafting through the air.

He thought he was a god. And to some in this neighbourhood, he was. Or he was as near to one as some had seen close up. He worked for Moretti. The Boss. The Don. And everyone feared him. But as Anthony watched DeLuca advance towards his mother, he felt his fear fading fast.

He was only sixteen at the time, but he forgot everything when he saw DeLuca put his hand on his mother's breast. He knew what was about to happen. He knew his father wouldn't recover from his wounds, but he'd be damned if he just cowered in the corner while his mother was violated before his eyes.

His hands that were balled into fists found a knife on the countertop and thrust it into DeLuca's thigh. He plunged it deep, twisted it and he heard him scream.

He was unaware of the soldier who was behind him now, and suddenly he felt the sharp pain of a knife blade as it travelled from his eye down his cheek. Further enraged he dug the knife out of DeLuca's thigh and plunged it into the soldier's chest.

"Anthony!" He heard his mother screaming.

DeLuca was limping towards the door, the blood draining out of his leg, slowing him down considerably. This was his chance he thought. I'm gonna kill him, he thought as he advanced on him.

"Baby please don't do it." His mother's pleas reached his ears bringing him back from his revenge filled rage. Her hands on his arm, his shoulder, he realized what he was about to do. "Don't do it. They will kill you…he's a Capo…..you can't do it….mio figlio, si prega di…"

He knew his life wouldn't be the same. He looked down at his father, laying on the ground his body still, unmoving and he knew life would never be the same. He dragged his mother into his bedroom and took out a stash of money he had hidden under the floor boards by the bed. It was $50,000 his father had told him to keep in case anything ever happened to him. He quickly split it between him and his mother and told her it would be best if they went their separate ways.

He felt numb as he told her goodbye. He knew it was just a matter of time before they came looking for him and he knew it wouldn't be safe if his mother stayed here in their home.

"I'll keep in touch mama." He said, knowing it was a lie. "Go to Aunt Fulvia's. Just take a few of your things and go as fast as you can. Don't ever come back, you hear me? I love you mama."

It was the last he ever saw her. A few weeks later, DeLuca had found her. He was really looking for Anthony, but when he couldn't find him, he took the next best thing. He hadn't cried when he found out. Truthfully he expected it though he'd hoped it wouldn't happen. He partly blamed himself, but that day in the kitchen, back in Brooklyn he had to do something.

He guessed he'd soon be next.

Now eight months later, he'd just newly turned seventeen and he wondered what he would do with his life. He sat down in a bar at a booth far in the back sipping on a beer. He'd coaxed the waitress with a few extra dollars when she asked him if he was old enough to drink. A shiny hundred dollar bill in her hand and she promised to keep them coming.

He was on his second beer when he saw a young man with wavy dark hair walk in and head straight for the bar. He figured he was no more than a few years older than he was. He ordered a drink and looked around the place, locking eyes with him momentarily. He nodded his head at him and looked at him curiously.

To his discomfort he saw him heading towards his table. He wondered if he was working for DeLuca and he glanced around the place looking for the nearest exit.

"Relax, my friend. No one's here to hurt you." He said as he sat down to his table.

Anthony looked at him a little closer, noticing the bandages around each of his hands. There were tiny traces of blood on them.

"Do I know you?" Anthony asked.

"No as a matter of fact you don't. But I know you."

"Oh yeah, how's that?" He asked.

"Look I know you're about to do something stupid, like reach for the gun at your waist and try to kill me. Let me just suggest you _not_ do that." He said with a smile. "The last two guys who tried that ended up dead. While I ended up with this." He said raising up his hands. "Stitches." He said and shrugged. "The really do itch like hell." He pointed to the scar on the side of Anthony's face. "But I'm sure you knew that already."

"How do you know who I am?"

"How? Right now that's not important. What's important is you and I are going to become very good friends since we share a common enemy."

"And who's that?" Asked Anthony, his eyes narrowed.

"Vincent DeLuca of course. And by extension, Don Moretti." He watched as the guy drank from his beer and gave him a curious smile.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Carl Elias. And you my friend are Anthony Marconi." He _was_ Anthony Marconi, had been all his life. He'd been a good boy, gotten good grades, been a good son. That day when he stabbed DeLuca in the leg he wasn't his good self anymore. He wasn't the same person anymore either. The good little mama's boy was long gone. He'd left his home and his mother and his old life behind. Maybe it was time he became someone else.

"No. Call me _Scarface_."

0o0o0o

* * *

He could hear the beeping in his ears again as he slowly opened his eyes once more. He wondered how long he had been out. He glanced through the glass opening in the door and saw Louis and Martin were still outside. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked over by the window and saw none other than Detective Carter standing by it.

He'd kidnapped her son over a year ago and she'd sent John to rescue him. He hadn't figured out their connection yet. Was he an old friend? A lover? He wondered why John would take up a personal crusade to go all out for her and risk getting killed for a child who wasn't his. There had to be something more between them. If it wasn't business, it had to be pleasure. He looked at her, his eyes travelling over the curves of her body that he could see even hidden beneath her pants and bulky jacket. If John had had a taste of that, he couldn't blame him.

A lot of time had passed since the incident, but a parent never forgets when someone does their child wrong. Was she here to get revenge? He mentally shook his head. There wasn't much she could do with Louis and Martin outside. She was a cop, but besides all that she didn't seem the revenge type.

The look on her face though, told him she had other things on her mind.

"What do you want?" He asked and he watched as she raised an eyebrow and moved closer.

"I wanted to look into the eyes of the man who took my son." Her face was stern, serious as she eyed him in the hospital bed. She was a tough broad he thought, ballsy; too bad she couldn't be bought. She seemed like she'd be a good ally to have.

"So you came to gloat."

"I wish I had. Not that you don't deserve it. I can't imagine the things you've done for your boss. I'd even go as far to say you deserve to be lying here in this bed. But so do the people who did this to you. Maybe more. Did you get a good look at them? Did you see who they were?"

_What did she care?_ He thought. He doubted she'd do much in the way to bring his would-be assassins to justice anyway. To her they were all the same. It didn't matter. Once he made it out of here, he'd find out who was behind the hit and he'd make sure they were taken care of along with every family member of theirs that he could find. He lived by another code that didn't involve the police. He wasn't about to start trading names now. He gave her a blank stare and she shook her head.

"Can't say I'm surprised." She said with a smirk. "I see you've got company outside your door." She inclined her head towards Louis and Martin. "One thing I can say about Elias….at least he's loyal. Loyal enough to get his body guards paroled to make sure your back is covered."

"What do you know about loyalty?"

"Apparently not much. At least not lately. Lately I've felt that I've been pretty much on my own. I've done some things that have me wondering just about…"

She stopped mid sentence catching herself and for a moment she had a look in her eye that said she was about to do something impulsive. He remembered that look, it reminded him of how he felt the moment he reached for the knife on the counter and stabbed DeLuca with it all those years ago.

"Elias is being moved tonight. It's supposed to be a prison transfer. I have a feeling; he won't make it from point A to point B."

"What do you know?" He asked reaching for her hand, gripping it. She gave him a pointed glare and he let go.

"I don't know _anything_, just like you didn't see who shot _you_." She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. She got up from the bed, heading from the door.

"What do you plan to do?" He asked. She looked at him one last time, but didn't respond before she left.

_Ballsy_, he mused again.

These things always happen in threes. Two of their men shot dead last night were the first; he was the second, now it looked as if Elias was next.

He hoped he was wrong. He hoped Detective Carter got there first.


End file.
